


The Skies are Changing in all the Shades of Blue

by anisstaranise



Category: Glee, In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Death, M/M, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4144080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anisstaranise/pseuds/anisstaranise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Blaine's hands expertly looped and tugged at the fabric, he looked at his reflection in the mirror and repeated the affirmation;<br/><i>“I am a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer. And what I did in my untreated state was not my fault.”</i><br/>-<br/>Sebastian was indifferent when it came to matters involving PDS sufferers. Like the rest of the living, he witnessed the havoc following The Rising; it was difficult not to develop some sort of indignation towards those with PDS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Skies are Changing in all the Shades of Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [define_serenity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity/gifts).



> **In The Flesh** AU inspired by Amy Dyer and Philip Wilson's story arc.
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO [define_serenity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity), who I believe if we were PDS, we'd be BDFFs- non negotiable. :)) Have a wonderful day, love.
> 
> Title taken from _Please Don't Stop the Rain_ by **James Morrison**

_Partially Deceased Syndrome (PDS) sufferer;  
One who was once deceased but has since come back to life. _

The ribbon of fabric hung loose around his neck; the sunshine-yellow a vibrant contrast against the midnight-black of his button down shirt. A self-proclaimed bow tie enthusiast, Blaine Anderson never had any problems tying the perfect classic knot or even the intricate diamond-point, but at the moment, his right hand trembled so violently, he could barely loop one end of the fabric over the other.

“You’re fine,” Blaine exhaled under his breath, interlocking his fingers together to stop his hand from shaking. “You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine,” he continued to chant in order to calm himself.

The seizures started a little over two weeks ago; the quaver of his hand- or sometimes both of his hands would follow each episode. The first time it hit, the convulsions ripped through his body so forcefully that it rattled his bones. It was also the first time Blaine felt pain since he came back to life; every muscle ached with soreness, every joint felt stiff.

It was relatively new to him; Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferers weren’t supposed to feel pain.

When the first seizure finally stopped, the most prominent thing Blaine remembered feeling apart from the pain was fear; fear that he might revert to his state before he was treated with Neurotriptyline. In that state, he had hurt people- _killed_ people- pried their cracked skulls open with bloodied fingers to reach the brain; consumed by the hunger to devour it.

The Neurotriptyline was a pharmaceutical break-through; the drug helped restore PDS sufferers to a _humanly_ state- returning their ability of speech and faculty of reason. However, the Neurotriptyline treatment- taken twice a day via an injection administered at the base of the neck- only _managed_ the human state at best; it didn’t reverse the _partially deceased_ condition. There was always the risk of relapsing into the untreated state if the PDS sufferer missed a shot; turning them rabid, turning them into killers.

 _Rabidication_ , they called it; returning to a state governed by an animalistic impulse and the taste for brain.

This thought terrified Blaine to no end. He couldn’t bear the thought of being what he was before the Neurotriptyline, of having no control over his own body, unable to stop himself from hurting others.

“You’re fine,” his doctor assured him, who also happened to be his older brother, Cooper. “You’re not turning rabid. This is just the treatment doing its thing. It’s one of the side-effects,” he explained.

Blaine held Cooper’s assurance to heart; soothing him like a warm, comforting blanket. Cooper meant everything to him; it had been just the two of them for a long time. He loved and adored his brother, and he trusted Cooper with his life. If the elder Anderson sibling said he was fine then he believed it.

As the tremors in his hand calmed to a stop, Blaine took a deep breath and suppressed the fear of rabidication that lingered in his mind with every episode of seizure. The memory of being rabid trudged up the guilt, the remorse over things he had done. It used to eat at him, overwhelming him to the point of losing his mind.

It was Cooper who pulled him out of the dark recesses of depression and self-loathing by arranging for him to speak to a therapist, who was also a PDS sufferer. Over time, she helped him come to terms with who and what he was; a PDS sufferer, a survivor.

With steady hands, Blaine began to tie his bowtie again. As his hands expertly looped and tugged at the fabric, he looked at his reflection in the mirror and repeated the affirmation his therapist had taught him;

“ _I am a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer_. _And what I did in my untreated state was not my fault_.”

He believed it now.

Dying at nineteen was beyond his control; so was being reanimated and rising from the grave a few years later. Blaine couldn’t change what he had done in his untreated state and he wasn’t going to punish himself over things he had no control of anymore.

He was given a new lease on life, and he intended to live it to the fullest.

Once he was finished, Blaine patted at his bowtie with a satisfied grin curling on his lips.

“You’re fine,” he muttered quietly, a final attempt to quash his fears; _you’re not going rabid, this is just a side effect_ , he reminded himself.

“You’re fine.”

 

\---

 _The Rising;_  
An event where the deceased became reanimated,  
rising from their graves and preyed on the living.  
  


The loud thud of a chair hitting the floor rose above the noise of the bar. Sebastian tore his attention away from the conversation he was having with Santana, the bartender, and searched for the source of the commotion.

“Rotters aren’t welcomed here,” a voice barked somewhere near the jukebox located at the back of the bar.

He immediately recognized the voice; David Thompson- one of the prominent members of the HVF.

During the initial days of The Rising, the residents of Westerville lived in fear of being attacked by the dead who, for reasons unknown, had risen from their graves and preyed on the living’s brains. Government and military aids were focused on the larger cities and Westerville- being the small town that it was- was left to fend for itself.

It was the Thompsons, along with Sebastian’s family, the Smythes- the family of Westerville's mayor- that founded the Human Volunteer Force (HVF); a militia whose duties were to protect the citizens from the attacks of the untreated PDS sufferers, or as David so derogatorily referred to them, Rotters.

In the days that followed the successful treatment and rehabilitation of PDS sufferers, bills were passed to protect those with PDS as they re-entered society. Members of the HVF never hid their distaste for the notion; the bloodshed and lives lost since The Rising still fresh in their minds.

“A Rotter’s a Rotter. Drugs or no drugs,” David would constantly say during town meetings and at protests to rid Westerville of PDS sufferers.

“The Warbler is open to everyone. We have every right to be here. Same as you,” the PDS sufferer bellowed, standing his ground.

Sebastian strained to see over the shoulders of the small crowd starting to gather around the jukebox. He caught sight of the PDS sufferer and his throat went dry; he recognized the person standing off against David.

It was Nick Duval, a former high school friend and lacrosse teammate. Nick died in a car accident just before graduation and rose along with the others during The Rising.

“Same as me?” David sneered. “You are nothing like me. You are an abomination. And you are not welcomed here!”

Sebastian heard Nick scoff before turning his back on David, fixing his attention on the jukebox.

Grave mistake.

In an instant, Sebastian saw David and two other HVF members pounce on Nick and started delivering blow after blow. He lost sight of Nick when the boy fell to the floor but David and the rest didn’t stop their attacks.

Sebastian felt the urge to break the fight; it was the right thing to do, he thought. But instead, he pulled out his wallet and placed a generous amount of crisp bills into Santana’s tip jar and hopped off the stool.

It wasn’t that Sebastian was cowardly; he was just- indifferent when it came to matters involving PDS sufferers. Like the rest of the living, he witnessed the havoc following The Rising; it was difficult not to develop some sort of indignation towards those with PDS.

He did feel the urge to aid the person being beaten by David and his posse, his conscience rapped inside him yelling ‘ _He_ was _your friend. He_ is _a person_.’ But his views on PDS sufferers, as indoctrinated by his father and the society he lived in, remained resolute; whoever was being beaten, it wasn’t really Nick Duval. It was just a shell, an echo of the person he used to be.

With that thought, Sebastian’s conscience fell silent; vanquished by his conditioned belief that disregarded PDS sufferers as equals to the living.

And with that thought, he stepped out into the night- leaving the brawl and the Warbler behind. _My conscience is clear_ , he convinced himself- but with every step he took down the path that led home, his soles grew heavier and heavier with the twinge of guilt.

 

\---

 

Cooper was ranting on about the night he had in the Emergency Room, all the weird cases that seem to only roll through the doors during the night shift. Blaine lost track of the case Cooper was recounting- something to do with a couple experimenting with different sexual positions and ended up getting stuck- as he tried to control his breathing.

The frequency of Blaine’s seizures had increased steadily over the past week and with each episode, he started to _feel_ more- more pain, more discomfort. Neurotriptyline shots were now painful to him and he dreaded the time of day when he needed to take them.

Blaine was glad for Cooper’s help in administering the shots, even more thankful for the drawled out tales of his night shift cases; they helped distract Blaine from the impending pain.

The cool tip of the jet injector connected with the port surgically placed at the base of Blaine’s neck, inserted there by doctors during his rehabilitation, and he braced for Cooper to pull the trigger.

With a quiet hiss, the injector dispersed the Neurotriptyline into Blaine’s bloodstream, feeling it burn through him, setting his veins on fire and scorching his tissues. His entire body shivered with the excruciating pain but was quickly soothed by two strong arms that enveloped him.

“You’re fine,” Cooper whispered as Blaine clutched at his brother’s arm, holding on for comfort, for sanity, letting the words wash over him and settle in his bones.

 _You’re fine_.

\---

 

Sebastian watched as his father, Nathaniel Smythe, fidgeted in the seat behind the majestically carved teak desk that had been in the mayor's office since the town’s inception. The elder Smythe’s face was twisted in a scowl as he looked down at the portfolio that rested upon the desk.

An identical portfolio laid in Sebastian’s lap as he sat in the corner where he had been taking down minutes for the meeting taking place. The bold letters on the front page of the document read:

 _Department of Partially Deceased Affairs  
The Rights of Partially Deceased Syndrome Sufferers_.

“This is absurd, Carole, and you know that,” barked Sebastian’s father to the person sitting opposite of him.

Dressed much too casually for an official Town Council meeting, Carole Hudson, in jeans and a button-down blouse, shook her head disapprovingly at the statement.

“Times have changed, Nate. The HVF needs to be disbanded,” Carole explained.

Sebastian could almost feel the vibrations of the growl that left his father’s throat. It wasn’t news that the elder Smythe did not agree with the government’s decision to allow PDS sufferers to re-enter society and live amongst the living. Like all the other members of the HVF, he saw the carnage brought forth by PDS sufferers in their untreated state, he saw the fear and the panic and experienced them first hand.

“These _things_ -,” the Mayor spat, “-terrorized our town, our country. They _killed_ our neighbours, our friends, and you expect me to join you in championing their rights?”

Carole sighed and Sebastian detected the weight of exhaustion in it; Nathaniel Smythe was indeed a difficult man to reason with.

“PDS sufferers cannot be held accountable for their actions in their untreated state,” she exclaimed.

“Bullshit,” his father bellowed, rising from his seat- his fist planted firmly on the desk.

“We all lost something- _someone_ , since The Rising, Nate. But it’s over now. There’s a cure out there that’s making them all better,” Carole stated calmly. “What David Thompson did was wrong; the HVF can’t go around assaulting these people like they’re some sort of worthless beings.”

“They’re not _people_ ,” Nate growled, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Need I remind you they are partially deceased- emphasis on _deceased_?”

Sebastian looked up from his notes when he heard Carole push back her chair to stand; she was clearly irked by the elder Smythe’s reactions.

“Yes, they’re partially deceased- emphasis on _partially_ ; meaning that there’s a part of them that _isn’t_ deceased,” Carole chided as she prepared to take her leave. “So, Mister Mayor, you might want to start focusing on the _living_ part of it all.”

The following day, Sebastian was transcribing his shorthand notes of the many council meeting minutes into longhand when his father entered his office rather jovially.

“Sebastian, I need you to call a Town Council’s meeting in an hour,” his father announced.

“What will be the agenda?” he asked without looking up from his notes.

“The portfolio states the right of PDS sufferers in _treatment_ \- that we are not allowed to turn them away from services, like in restaurants or public transports. But they don’t mention any _other_ rights,” Nathaniel Smythe said with a devious smile. “So, I am revoking all their rights to employment and education until they give back,” he declared enthusiastically.

“Give back?” Sebastian asked, furrowing his brow as he tore his attention from the notes to focus on his father.

“I’m creating a Give Back Scheme that they have to complete in order to have their rights to work and education reinstated,” his father explained.

“Why?” Sebastian inquired, his confusion growing by the minute.

“We cannot let these PDS sufferers roam around like royalty just because the government say they have rights that are akin to ours,” the elder Smythe grumbled in disgust. “They need to know that they caused grief to this community and they need to pay for what they’ve done.”

Sebastian was conflicted; on one hand, he agreed with his father that PDS sufferers should own up to the consequences of their actions in their untreated state. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but feel that the scheme was in violation of PDS sufferers’ rights- even if those rights weren’t specifically mentioned in the _Department of Partially Deceased Affairs_ ’ portfolio.

“So, please, Sebastian-,” the elder Smythe’s voice boomed, shaking him out of his thoughts, “-call for the meeting in an hour. I need the council to sign off on this so we can get started.”

He turned his father’s words over and over in his mind:

_They need to know that they caused grief to this community and they need to pay for what they’ve done._

That was all it took to silence the conflict festering within; yes, PDS sufferers shouldn’t be let off easy after all they had done, regardless of the state they were in.

With that thought, Sebastian nodded his agreement and bounded off to make the necessary arrangements for the Council meeting.

 

\---

 

The Town Hall buzzed with confused murmurs of the gathered PDS sufferers. The day before, Blaine, like all the others with PDS, were given a notice to attend a compulsory meeting; the time and venue printed in big, bold letters- screaming its importance.

Blaine took a seat somewhere in the middle of the hall, comfortably nestling himself on the wooden folding chair and surveyed the people scattered around the room. Some wore their skin-toned mousse and contacts perfectly to mask their PDS appearance, others, like himself, opted for their _au naturel_ look- displaying their pale, marbly skin and eyes with contracted pupils.

There was pity swimming inside his chest for those with PDS who desperately tried to look normal, to mirror the image of the living, but he understood that they had their own reasons. The society they lived in wasn’t very accepting of their differences and going _au naturel_ sometimes meant painting a flaringly bright bull’s eye on your back; an invitation for hostile scrutiny.

Perhaps those that apply the layers of mousse weren’t covering up for society; perhaps they were doing it to avoid looking at what they had become, still unable to accept or comprehend the state they were in- the way Blaine did in the early days following his release from the treatment and rehabilitation center.

It took months for him to be able to look at himself in the mirror without any mousse on, without seeing a monster staring back at him. The snippets of memories of things he had done before he was treated wore him down with guilt and disgust.

He soon learned to be accepting of the person he was, something he was never able to even when he was alive. So, despite the veiled threats and the disgusted side-looks he received from the bigoted townsfolk, Blaine always wore the sunniest colours and quirkiest bowties and never a touch of mousse.

_I am a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer and what I did in my untreated state was not my fault._

At the front of the hall, a white screen descended from where it was tucked hidden in the ceiling. The murmurs in the hall died down and moments later, Blaine heard the click of a projector starting as the lights of the room were dimmed. The screen flickered to life with the start of what he mused to be the beginnings of a badly acted Public Service Announcement.

“ _Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferers are now back with their families enjoying a new beginning_ ,” the narrator stated as the people on the screen joyfully hugged a returning PDS sufferer; a forced happy smile plastered on their faces. “ _But what now?_ ” the narrator asked.

“ _I’d like to see the PDS sufferers helping the communities they once destroyed_ ,” the PSA actress exclaimed blankly. “ _And I’d like to see PDS sufferers help rebuild American businesses they once tore apart_.”

Blaine couldn’t believe his eyes and ears. This was a joke, he thought.

A PDS sufferer came on screen, enthusiastically claiming, “ _I’m a PDS sufferer, and I’d like to give back to society._ ”

Blaine shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Dread was slowly starting to build in the pit of his stomach. Wherever the PSA was headed, he predicted it couldn’t be anywhere good.

“ _Giving back to the society they once ravaged, it’s what everyone wants; living and PDS alike. That’s why the Westerville City Council is putting into action the PDS Give Back Scheme_.”

The PSA video went on to explain the Give Back Scheme required all PDS sufferers to complete assigned tasks and various jobs. “ _As PDS sufferers give back, we’ll give back to them too_ ,” the narrator boasted, further explaining that PDS sufferers were no longer entitled to employment or education until they completed their PDS Give Back Scheme, at which point they will be awarded with a certificate. Only with the certificate were they allowed to return to their jobs or schools.

However, the PSA failed to mention the duration of the Give Back Scheme. How many tasks or hours were they suppose to complete before they would get their certificate?

And that was the catch, wasn’t it? Blaine thought. The Give Back Scheme was a scam; nothing short of slavery. Blaine’s stomach twisted in disgust at the thought; of being someone’s servant- cleaning out their garbage or mowing their lawns- all in the name of _giving back_.

When the PSA ended, the screen was slowly pulled back into place inside a slot in the ceiling and a man moved to the front of the hall in an authoritative manner. Though he didn’t know the man personally, Blaine wasn’t surprised to find David Thompson at the helm; he was infamous amongst the PDS sufferers.

“Alright, I’m sure you’re all very eager to get started,” David barked, his tone heavy with a sadistic glee. “You lot will register yourselves with the scheme before you leave. The counters have been set up by the exits.”

A murmur of protests erupted from those around Blaine, the tension and discomfort laid heavy upon the room.

“Before you do so-,” David continued, ignoring the protests, “- here are some ground rules to follow.”

It was starting to feel as if they were being read their Miranda rights. The Give Back Scheme was about to be the shackles on their freedom.

David Thompson held up a piece of paper and read aloud; “Rule number one: all PDS sufferers must adhere to their Neurotriptyline course, for their own safety and the safety of others.”

“Rule number two: all the tasks will begin from 9am until 5pm with a two hour lunch break from 12pm. And all tasks will be assigned by the City Council. You are not allowed to select your tasks or switch tasks with another.”

“Rule number three: all PDS sufferers are required to wear this vest-,” he said as he held up a neon orange vest, “-for the sake of identification. You are also required to wear your mousse and cover-up at all times to avoid discomfort amongst the members of society you are giving back to.”

Displeased murmurs vibrated through the room, punctuated by a half-yelled ‘This is absurd’ from somewhere behind Blaine. The tendrils of anger slowly crept in his veins.

“With all due respect-,” Blaine spoke up suddenly. The room fell silent immediately and all eyes were trained on him. He shifted uncomfortably under their gaze but he needed to say something. Certain things weren’t meant to be tolerated; to have someone else dictate how you should look just because others might be _offended_ or _affronted_ by it was one of them. “-how a person regards and reacts to our looks is not our problem. It is not our duty to ensure everyone is comfortable with what a person with PDS looks like. We are what we are, and we are who we are. If we’re going to put on the mousse and contacts, it’ll be on our terms.”

If looks could start fires, David’s glare would have set an inferno to the entire hall, especially to Blaine. But he didn’t care; the cheers and applause from the other PDS sufferers were soothing and encouraging.

David tried to regain control over the room but everyone started to leave their seats and headed towards the makeshift registration counter. Like Blaine, they wanted to get this scheme over and done with so they could move on with their lives.

Blaine joined the line that began to form at the front of the counter and snaked all the way to the back of the hall, feeling rather pleased with himself. He was never one for confrontations but it felt good to stand up for himself, for others like him.

As the line progressed, he caught David scowling at him and every other living person he passed wore the exact same scowl. It made his skin crawl at the thought that these people could harbour so much resentment towards people who were different from them.

Minutes passed at a slow place until finally, he was next in line to register. Upon reaching the counter, Blaine was surprised to pass one man who didn’t have a scowl on his face- tall, lanky, with bright green eyes. Instead, he gave Blaine a small nod and a secret smile; an acknowledgement of sorts.

The encounter was so brief that Blaine was convinced he had imagined it but it provided him with a certain kind of comfort to know that someone _living_ might not view him as a monster. He tried to look at the taller man again, craving to relive the expression that wasn’t _loathing_ for once, but the woman at the counter started asking him questions and he had to divert all his attention to responding to the inquiries and filling out forms.

By the time he was done, the taller man was nowhere to be found.

 

\---

 

Two weeks into handling the affairs of the PDS Give Back Scheme, Sebastian was spread thin from creating new schedules for tasks and ensuring everything operated smoothly. His father had left him in charge of the PDS Give Back Scheme, not trusting David Thompson to run it objectively. Despite the mayor’s dislike for people with PDS, he couldn’t afford another visit from Carole Hudson or any other representative from the Department of Partially Deceased Affairs. If anything, his father was diplomatic.

It was a beautiful morning- with cloudless skies and cooling breeze, a great day to be outdoors. It was this reason that Sebastian decided to come into work late and reward himself with an extra hour of breakfast at his favourite spot.

With a bag of cream cheese and caper bagels in one hand, and a cup of latte brewed to perfection in the other, Sebastian treaded the familiar path up a small hill in the park a little way away from Town Hall.

At the top of the hill, a lone oak tree stood strong and proud.

This was Sebastian’s special place, his sanctuary.

As a boy, he would have picnics under the protective shade of the oak tree. It was where his mother had taught him how to play chess, where she would read to him stories of a majestic white whale and of Frankenstein’s monster. It had been years since she passed, but here- under the oak tree, she was most alive to Sebastian.

A movement on the other side of the oak tree caught Sebastian’s attention. No one usually ventured out this far, especially not this early in the day. It irked him slightly that someone else was there but he wasn’t about to let a stranger dampen his day.

Sebastian rounded the oak tree cautiously, curious as to whom the stranger was. The first thing his eyes landed on was the neon orange vest the other boy- or was it a man?- was wearing. A PDS sufferer.

“Shouldn’t you be at your job with the Give Back Scheme?” Sebastian blurted, forgoing any civilised greeting and finally getting a better look at the boy. Yes, definitely a boy.

The boy looked up from the book in his lap and met Sebastian’s gaze. Sebastian recognized him as the one who stood up to David at the Town Hall meeting. He had felt something akin to fondness for the boy for speaking up for what he believed in; it was the first time he heard a person with PDS speak with such passion, such _life_. Before this, he always thought of them to be automatons in the shell of what they used to be, but after listening to the boy, it was enough to cause a tremor in the foundations of what he thought of PDS sufferers.

“By definition, a job entails payment for one’s services,” the boy said after recovering from the initial shock of Sebastian’s presence. “The Give Back Scam-“

“-Scheme,” Sebastian corrected instinctively.

“-is a servitude,” the boy continued as if Sebastian hadn’t said anything. “And we are but slaves.”

Sebastian scoffed as the boy returned his attention to his book. Initially, he thought the Give Back Scheme violated a person’s rights, but as he thought of all the times untreated PDS sufferers tore through the town and the community- taking a few lives along the way, he was convinced the scheme was the PDS sufferers’ chance at absolution.

“You are not slaves,” Sebastian argued, fidgeting on the spot and eyeing his untouched breakfast. He briefly lamented the latte that was getting cold before continuing, “Do you even realize the terror, the destruction you’ve caused? This is your chance to give back. This is your redemption.”

“Redemption?” the boy questioned as the anger burned in his eyes and bore into Sebastian’s green ones. “For what?” he said, rising from his spot and letting the book fall to the ground.

Sebastian stood his ground as the boy chanced a step forward, invading his space. He had heard stories before- of treated PDS sufferers going rabid; he wondered if anger was a trigger for a person with PDS to relapse into his rabid state. His eyes travelled down to the bold **I’m PDS and I’m Giving Back** emblazoned on the orange vest; every instinct in his body beseeched him to run, but there was something about the boy- his zeal, his _liveliness_ , that kept him welded in place.

“Do you think we wanted to rise from our graves and roam around hurting people? Do you think we wanted to have our instincts programmed to feed on a living being’s brain?” the boy shot, stepping closer to Sebastian. “You ask if I was aware of the terror I caused, and the answer is yes! I remember _enough_ of what I did during my untreated state! You cannot begin to imagine how terrible it was; to not have any control over the burning hunger, to not have the will the stop from _killing_. It was terrible! But guess what, it wasn’t my fault! I didn’t ask for this,” he exclaimed rather calmly. “For whatever reason, I _did_ come back to life and I see it as a gift, a second chance to really _live_. But you-,” the boy snarled. “-you, and the mayor, and everyone in this town, you are _punishing_ us for something we had no control over. The Give Back _Scheme_ -,” he spat, clearly irritated, “-it’s not redemption. It’s retribution.”

A wave of conflicting emotions rippled through him, feeling the weight that alternated between guilt and being affronted at the boy’s claims, but one feeling rose above all else; fondness. Sebastian felt the blossoming admiration he had for the boy at the meeting grow ten-fold after listening to his rather endearing tirade. The tremors to the foundations of his beliefs returned, the waves of it more distinct and he started to see glimpses of flaw in the logic he was taught; there was more to PDS sufferers that just an echo of what they once were. Contrary to what he believed, those with PDS weren’t just shadows of their former selves; they were very much _human_ , very much _alive._ The boy before him was a testament to that.

A small smile cracked at the corners of his lips and before he could stop it, the words were leaving his mouth:

“You’re certainly very passionate for someone who’s half dead.”

The boy flinched at his words. He could feel his own eyes bulge in disbelief; he had meant to say it in a teasing tone, something playful, but instead it came out harsh and demeaning.

“You know what?” the boy chuckled humourlessly. “I’ve never liked being around bigoted assholes when I was alive and I surely don’t like being around one now that I’m _half dead_. If you’ll excuse me, I have a _job_ to get back to.”

Sebastian watched the boy retrieve his book from the patch of grass and gracefully started down the hill. He wanted to call out to the boy, to explain that he meant no offense, but he couldn’t move- too stunned by his tactlessness.

“Idiot,” he chastised himself in a whisper.

When the boy disappeared in the distance, Sebastian flopped down under the oak tree and leaned against the trunk. As he fished his bagels out of the paper bag, he replayed all of the boy’s words in his mind:

_You ask if I was aware of the terror I caused, and the answer is yes!_

_For whatever reason, I_ did _come back to life and I see it as a gift, a second chance to really_ live _._

Sebastian looked up at the oak tree, the leaves draping languidly from the winding branches, its lush green showing hints of golden brown, a sign of the impending seasonal change. Just as the seasons were changing, the heady heat of summer dissolving with the crisp autumn breeze, the lively boy was subtly changing Sebastian’s outlook on PDS sufferers. Where he once thought them to be impenitent and void of emotions, his encounter with the boy was slowly starting to make him _see_.

And what he saw led him to conclude that _no,_ PDS sufferers weren’t just shells of the past because, if the boy was anything to go by, he was too full of life, too beautiful to be _just_ a shell.

 

\---

 

The smell of caramel apples and popcorn punctuated the air around him, the sounds of laughter and carnival music wafting along with it. It was the weekend of The Founder’s Day Fair; one of Blaine’s favourite things about Westerville. He sighed contently as his eyes took in the sights; from the food stalls and game booths to the massive Ferris wheel rotating lazily at the end of the town’s quad. Amidst the bustle of the festivities, the town was still blanketed by a comforting serenity; something Blaine was sure can only be found in a small town such as Westerville.

Born and raised in a big city, Blaine realized that the slow-paced, quiet life of a small town suited him best. The city was too loud, the ratrace too consuming. He was a part of that life-in-the-fast-lane since he was a boy; the hours spent in libraries chasing that A to secure his place in an Ivy League university, the strenuous practices on the soccer field to win that national title. It was exhausting.

When he re-entered society after his successful rehabilitation, Cooper had asked to move with him to Westerville; a fresh start, his brother had said. The town needed a doctor- an emergency medical specialist, who was also a PDS specialist, and Cooper had gladly taken the position and Blaine gladly welcomed the calm the town had to offer.

“Step right up, young man,” a voice boomed, claiming Blaine’s attention.

As he turned to the source of the invitation, Blaine was startled to find a middle-aged carnie standing behind one of the game booths closest to him, looking at him with kind eyes; a gaze that was not filled with disgust or fear was somewhat new to him.

“Good afternoon,” Blaine greeted warily, uncertain if the man was friend or foe as he stepped closer to the booth.

“Would you like to try your hand at the ring-toss?” the man offered.

Blaine instinctively looked over his shoulder to ascertain that the carnie was indeed addressing him, and not someone else nearby.

“My wife, Ruth, she’s a PDS sufferer,” the man said as if he sensed the reason for Blaine’s cautious approach. “She hates wearing those mousse things too,” he continued, gesturing to Blaine’s pale face.

“She looks better without it, to be honest. Always beautiful, my Ruth. Matters not if she’s PDS, I say. Still my Ruth.”

Instantaneously, Blaine felt his muscles relax; it was invigorating to meet someone who saw beyond the PDS, saw a person just as they were.

“I’m sure she’s one of the most beautiful women in the world,” he said smiling up at the man.

“That she is,” the carnie replied, tipping the herringbone-patterned flat cap, its grey blending with the shade of his silvering hair. “Come try a round, son.”

Blaine stepped up happily under the booth’s canopy, accepting the rings the man had offered. Slowly, he aimed for the bottlenecks and flicked his wrist gracefully. Unfortunately, his aim wasn’t as graceful.

“You’re terrible at that,” a familiar voice spoke somewhere to his side after a failed third toss. Blaine looked up to find green eyes looking at him, darting from the rings in his hands to the array of bottles lined a few feet away.

He couldn’t help the scoff that resonated in his throat as he rolled his eyes at the other man; _oak tree guy_ , as he had been dubbed in Blaine’s mind. Their unpleasant encounter had taken place almost a week prior but the disdain had lingered. When the taller man had appeared at his favourite reading spot, he instantly recognized him as the one who had flashed him a kind smile at the first Give Back Scheme meeting, or at least that was what he thought. Perhaps the man was different from the rest of the PDS-loathing townsfolk, he had mused, but the moment they traded words beneath the shade of the oak tree, he knew he had been wrong.

“Right, let’s see you try and do better,” Blaine challenged, handing the rings over to the taller man.

The man smirked as he strode towards Blaine, an air of sophistication emitting from him. He gingerly took the remaining seven rings and tossed each one with ease, each one successfully catching a bottleneck.

“Congratulations,” the middle aged carnie beamed, passing the taller man a prize; a small plush orange tiger.

“Thank you,” the taller man said as he accepted the prize. He then turned to Blaine, the earlier smarmy confidence faltering into something sheepish as he shifted from one foot to the other, fingers carding the plush toy’s fur. “Here,” he muttered almost shyly, offering Blaine the prize.

Blaine didn’t move.

“We may have gotten off on the wrong foot-,” the taller man quipped, the plush toy hanging in the space between them. “-this is my apology.”

Slowly, Blaine reached out and carefully curled his fingers around the toy animal, half expecting an imminent attack, for a swarm of hateful citizens to emerge with torches and pitchforks and drive him out of town.

“I’m Sebastian,” the taller man offered. “Sebastian Smythe.”

Of all the weeks with the PDS Give Back Scheme, Blaine always saw Sebastian give out orders and explain guidelines to the volunteers chaperoning the PDS sufferers but he never once bothered to find out the man’s name, even when the taller man started to show up more and more at the places where he was stationed.

He was wary of accepting the gift and the apology, his eyes carefully regarding the taller man; from his neatly styled brunette hair to the intriguing jade green eyes that were carefully regarding him in return, but there was a part of him that was still convinced that Sebastian could be different from the rest, based on the fleeting albeit meaningful exchange at the Town Hall meeting. So, with a cautious smile, he extended his free hand. “Blaine Anderson.”

Sebastian beamed the most blinding smile that made his skin tingle as the taller man graciously accepted his hand, locking it down in a firm handshake.

Just as Sebastian released his grip, a commotion erupted somewhere behind them. Blaine turned to find a small crowd gathering in the middle of the quad, two small groups facing off with each other. Fuelled by curiosity, he headed straight for the crowd, vaguely aware of Sebastian following suit.

The form of David Thompson came into view as Blaine reached the fringes of the crowd and he could see the other man’s defensive stance as he planted himself before a group of three or four teenaged-PDS sufferers, his muscles visibly wound tight beneath the proudly worn HVF t-shirt and ready for a fight.

“The Founder’s Day Fair is a celebration for the _living_ ,” David’s orotund voice echoed through the quad, directing his speech to the PDS teenagers. “We don’t want _you_ here,” he spat as his eyes scanned the crowd, possibly looking for other PDS sufferers. David’s eyes landed on Blaine, the disgust painted in them as clear as day.

An anger stirred within Blaine; he had had enough of the hatred being hauled at PDS sufferers of the town.

“And yet you’re celebrating men who have been _dead_ for centuries,” he said, tone laced with a venom fed by his anger. “Some of us can attest to being dead. It only makes sense that we get to join in the festivities, no?”

From where he was standing, Blaine could see the flare of hatred replace the disgust in David’s eyes as his brown skin turned darker, flushed with anger. With fast, purposeful strides, David charged straight towards Blaine. Every instinct in his Neurotriptyline-adled body screamed for him to run, to save himself from an impending assault, but there was resolution thrumming in his gut, in his chest that refused to let him back down; no more, he reminded himself quietly. No more giving in to bullies. Blaine had done enough of that when he was alive. With his new lease on life, it was time to take a stand.

David was approaching fast, hand clutching at something tucked by his belt. Blaine braced for an attack, for a blow to connect with his body, but before anything could happen, a tall, lanky figure stepped protectively in front of him, a firm hand placed on the oncoming man’s chest, halting his movements.

“Enough, David,” Sebastian barked in an authoritative voice. “This celebration is for _everyone_ in this town.”

David glared past Sebastian’s lean frame at Blaine, his breathing ragged; his rage puffing with each exhale. With a scoff and a spit to the ground, the hateful man turned on his heel and stalked off.

The crowd slowly dispersed when David and some other HVF members disappeared past the stalls and booths, the excited murmurs of the fair filling the air once again. When Sebastian turned to face him, Blaine let a small, grateful smile curl upon his lips. What the taller man did for him, defending him that way, it was more than anyone outside of Cooper had ever done. He could feel the part of him that was convinced Sebastian was unlike the other PDS-loathing people smugly state ‘ _I told you so_ ’.

Sebastian returned the gesture with an apologetic smile. With a slight nod, the taller man wordlessly turned to join the rest of the Founder’s Day festivities.

As he watched Sebastian weave his way through the crowd, Blaine felt a growing sense of intrigue. His encounter with Sebastian at the oak tree had been more than unpleasant; the taller man’s views on the PDS Give Back Scheme had vexed him to no end. But today’s encounter had shown another side of Sebastian that made him want to learn more about the other man.

A weight in his right hand reminded him that he was clutching something; the plush tiger, briefly forgotten in the midst of the confrontation with David. Blaine smiled to himself at the sight of the toy, a fondness blossoming in his belly.

Fiddling with the plush toy’s soft coat, he vowed to get to know Sebastian more the next time the other man showed up where he was stationed.

 

\---

 

Sebastian’s steps crunched noisily over the fallen leaves that paved the ground leading towards the old oak tree in hues of brown and orange while the crisp, autumn air melted in his lungs. His journey up the hill was a daily routine now, something he looked forward to as soon as the clock struck noon.

A mass of radiant orange came into view the closer Sebastian got to the tree, its shade standing out amongst the colours of the autumn leaves. He couldn’t help the happy sigh that escaped his chest at the sight that greeted him; Blaine, dressed in his neon orange PDS Give Back Scheme vest, sitting against the trunk, engrossed in the world erected in the pages held in his delicate hands.

A friendship blossomed between them the day of the Founder’s Fair and it had developed more after Blaine extended an invitation to join him during his lunch break under the shelter of the mighty oak one day. ‘Lunch’ was a misnomer for Blaine since PDS sufferers didn’t eat, but they enjoyed spending the allocated break together nonetheless. From that day on, they met at the same place, at the same time- even on weekends when they both could have stayed home for a much needed rest from the week’s toils; trading stories of past lives, sharing hopes and dreams of the future and everything in between.

“Hey,” Blaine greeted him with a smile, as he gracefully plunked down next to the boy.

“Hey,” Sebastian said in return with a playful bump of their shoulders, folding his long legs underneath his lean body as he fished for his lunch in the paper bag he had been carrying. “How’s your day so far?”

“It’s okay,” the other boy groaned, closing the book he had been reading to turn his body to face Sebastian. “Putting up chain-link fences isn’t exactly rocket science but it can be pretty taxing.”

Sebastian looked at Blaine apologetically; the more time he spent with the spirited PDS sufferer, the more he disliked the concept of the PDS Give Back Scheme. “I’m sorry,” he tried to say but before he could get the words past his lips, Blaine nudged the opened food container in his hands.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, this?” he held the container up in one hand, while the other swept theatrically in front of it, reminiscent of a cheesy infomercial presentation. “This is a tuna casserole, based off of my mother’s famous, and very secret, recipe.”

A hearty laugh tumbled from Blaine’s pale lips, eyes rolling fondly at Sebastian. “So glad your charm makes up for your cheesiness.”

He wanted to come up with an equally playful retort, but the sight of Blaine’s tongue darting briefly to wet his lips as his eyes fell on the casserole distracted him. The other boy was staring intently at the dish and he caught a glimpse of what he interpreted as hunger and craving on the boy’s face.

“Are you sure PDS sufferers don’t eat, Blaine?” Sebastian asked half teasing, half curious. “You look like you’re ready to inhale this casserole down.”

Blaine ducked his head shyly, averting his eyes, fingers nimbly picking at the hem of his neon vest- something Sebastian noticed he did when he was restless. “I’ve been drawn to food these past few days. I have no idea why,” the shorter boy said, a shy, lilting laugh following his confession.

Sebastian regarded him carefully, taking in his marble-smooth skin and the piercing quality of his eyes; Blaine did look hungry. Perhaps appetite was something PDS sufferers re-developed after a period of being medicated with Neurotriptyline. “Come have a bite,” he offered, stabbing his travel fork into the casserole and nudging the container in Blaine’s direction.

Blaine shook his head softly. “I shouldn’t,” he declined with a soft smile that always enamoured the taller man. “I don’t want it to make me sick.”

“Are you insulting my cooking skills, Blaine Anderson?” Sebastian protested, pretending to be insulted as he withdrew the dish.

Blaine let out another hearty laugh that made Sebastian’s heart dance giddily; an occurrence that had been happening more frequently the more time he spent with the other boy.

“I would never,” Blaine countered playfully, eyes wide as he pretended to be insulted by the accusation. Their laughter travelled up to the branches of the oak tree, bouncing off the browning leaves that still dangled lazily on them. “Seriously, it smells delicious. Your mother must be a wonderful cook.”

“She was,” he smiled fondly.

Blaine’s face fell, his upturned lips now downcast. “I’m sorry,” the shorter boy whispered. “I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” Sebastian cut in. This was the first time since they started this routined meeting of theirs four weeks ago that the topic was broached. He lifted the travel fork to his lips and munched on a mouthful of casserole; the taste opening the gates of nostalgia. Sebastian’s mind drifted to the many afternoons he would sit at the kitchen table, watching his mother waltz between the stove and counter, dropping ingredients into the pot, a pinch of salt here, a dash of pepper there; he had been mesmerized.

“Sebastian,” Blaine called softly in a cautious tone that pulled him from thoughts of his mother. “Your mother- The Rising- did she-?”

“No,” he blurted before Blaine could finish his query. “She passed when I was ten.”

A heavy silence fell between them, neither awkward nor uncomfortable, both of them deep in their thoughts.

It was Blaine who spoke first, breaching the blanketing silence.

“You said before that you thought the PDS Give Back Scheme was a chance at redemption-”

Sebastian cringed at the memory not too long ago, his sentiments regarding PDS sufferers severely prejudiced then. “Blaine-”

“I just want to understand,” the shorter boy cut in, his words rapid and urgent. “We were both on different sides of The Rising. I really want to understand what it was like for you.”

Sebastian took a deep breath as he drew from memory that he much rather forget but it was an honest enough request on Blaine’s part; an attempt at getting to know each other better. Something had shifted between them at the Founder’s Day Fair and he was sure he could never deny Blaine anything.

“Terrifying,” Sebastian exhaled. “For four years, the world seemed like the darkest place, the loneliest- and it was terrifying.” He closed his eyes, the vivid memories of a terrible time playing behind his eyelids. “Food was low; it was the first time in my life where I actually understood what hunger was,” he recalled, instinctively nudging his food around in the container as if to check if it was all still there, if it was real. “To see people you once knew, who you’ve said goodbye to come back to life as this _\- thing_ -,” he drawled on the term and waited for a reaction from Blaine, fearing the lack of a better word might offend his friend, but Blaine only nodded in comprehension. “- it was terrifying,” he repeated.

A look of shame and guilt glazed over Blaine’s eyes, as if The Rising were his fault. There was an apology hanging between them, but the other boy remained silent; Sebastian would never expect an apology from the likes of a PDS sufferer- not now that he knew better: The Rising was no one’s fault- it was something that just... happened.

“Those _things_ looked like our friends, our neighbours- only they weren’t. There was nothing human about them; the way they maimed- the way they killed.” Sebastian took another deep breath as he tried to calm his racing heart that had picked up its pace as he ventured down the nightmarish memory lane. “Seeing that was the reason why I believed that PDS sufferers, treated or not, were only shells of what they used to be. Nothing more.”

“Is that how you see me? A shell?” Blaine asked, a hurt weaving in his words.

“No.”

“No?”

Sebastian laid his container of his already cold lunch aside and leaned in closer to Blaine; he needed the other boy to understand.

“I used to believe it, yes- but there was what I believed-,” he said lifting a hand to cup the side of Blaine’s face, his marble skin cool under his touch, “-and then there’s you.”

His confession was layered with all that nestled in his heart; Blaine was _something else_ , Sebastian often thought. He had a difficult time coming up with the right words to describe the PDS sufferer, so he settled for _something else_ ; because that was exactly what Blaine was: something out-of-this-world, something extraordinary. Little by little, the boy had shattered all his prejudices against PDS sufferers and showed him how _alive_ one can be, despite being partially deceased. And little by little, he found himself falling for Blaine.

Blaine burrowed into his touch, eyes closed.

Sebastian’s heart stuttered at the beauty that was Blaine Anderson. He felt himself gravitate slowly but surely towards the other boy when the boy’s eyelids fluttered open and he lost himself in those eyes; the irises might lack colour- the murky white encircling needle-point pupils, but they were kind- and lovely- and very much _Blaine_. He was aware of how close their lips were, almost touching- their breaths mingling between them. But just as he was about to bridge the gap between their lips, Blaine started convulsing.

“Blaine!” he yelled in surprise, both his hands gripping the boy’s trashing body by the forearms; Blaine was having a seizure.

In the weeks that they had spent together, Sebastian had witnessed one of Blaine’s episodes twice already. On instinct, he gently lowered the boy’s body to the ground, tilting him on his side and immediately timed the seizure, knowing that an episode usually didn’t last more than sixty seconds.

Sixty seconds passed, and Blaine’s compact form was still rife with spasms; his muscles jerking uncontrollably.

Panic started to bubble in Sebastian’s bones. Two minutes into the seizure, he decided to pull out his phone to call for help, but as his thumb hovered over the “call” button, the waves of tremors stopped and Blaine crumpled onto his stomach, his breathing ragged and loud.

“Sebastian,” Blaine whispered, his breath sending gentle ripples on the fallen leaves closest to his face as Sebastian ran a hand down his spine, a reverberating _I’m here_ laced in the touch. “Please take me to the hospital.”

 

\---

 

Blaine absentmindedly crossed his arms, tucking his hands under them in an effort to calm its turbulent trembling- the after effects of one of the worst seizures he had experienced yet. His mind struggled to wrap itself around the notion that his brother had presented a while ago, all the questions swirling haphazardly in his head. The distant beeping of the ECG machines spilling past curtained treatment rooms and the faint squeak of his shoes against the linoleum floor did very little to calm his thoughts as he slowly made his way down the corridor of the emergency room.

“What’s wrong with me, Cooper?” Blaine had asked his brother after a bout of tests.

“I honestly don’t know, squirt,” Cooper sighed exasperatedly, pulling his chair closer to Blaine. The increased frequency of his seizures was starting to worry his brother, too. “Your condition is unusual, but not unheard of.”

“You’ve treated other PDS sufferers with seizures like mine?”

“No,” Cooper let out another sigh, the frustration laced heavily in his breath. “-but I’ve heard of similar cases from other doctors. Some folks at the Cleveland Treatment and Rehabilitation Center have been playing with the hypothesis of PDS sufferers being... _alive again_.”

“ _Alive again_? What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure, but there are reports of changes in PDS sufferers that indicate they are- _coming back to life_ , like their organs, their senses are being rebooted- and everything is restarting,” Cooper had explained, a little of the worry dissipating behind the excitement twinkling in his eyes- a glint that always appeared when Cooper started talking about anything related to medicine and all discoveries yet to be made.

“Like a rebirth?” he had asked, not entirely sure how to digest this new hopeful information, however hypothetical.

“Yeah, you can say that,” his brother agreed, a little chuckle slipping through his lips. “But nothing’s proven yet, though.”

 _Alive again_ ; it was an impossible concept, one that defied the natural laws of the Universe- but then again, Blaine had died after a freak accident on the soccer field when he took a cleat-footed blow to the head that had caused a haemorrhage and rose from the grave to _live_ again- as a PDS sufferer. A rebirth didn’t sound so impossible after all of that.

The hope that he could be _alive_ again was dizzying; to be _alive again_ meant he truly had a second chance at _living_ \- to feel his heart beating a steady rhythm in his chest again, to be able to grow old. Having PDS meant he would be frozen at nineteen, forever. He wouldn’t age a day, perhaps he would outlive those he cared about; Cooper, Sebastian- the mere thought of it made him feel so utterly heartbroken, so utterly lonely.

Blaine pushed the double doors that opened to the waiting area and a calm swept through him that stilled his trembling hands, silencing all thoughts of _alive again_ the moment his eyes fell on Sebastian. The taller man was hunched in his seat, elbows resting on his thighs, hands rubbing together- a nervous tick of Sebastian’s that he noticed after all the time they spent together.

Blaine headed straight for Sebastian, his soles as light as air. Sebastian looked up at him as he got closer; the worry in his eyes was replaced with a soft gleam, something Blaine observed was ever-present whenever the other man looked at him. In a heartbeat, Sebastian launched himself out of his seat and met Blaine halfway across the room.

“Blaine! Are you alright?” Sebastian asked, almost breathless, a hand clutching at Blaine’s forearm as if to make certain that he was indeed there, in the flesh.

“I’m fine, Sebastian,” he replied, unable to suppress the giggle that bubbled from within at the sight of the taller man who was awash with relief. “What are you still doing here? I thought you left hours ago.”

“I couldn’t- not until-,” Sebastian stammered. “I just needed to know you were okay.”

Blaine’s skin tingled with happiness at the confession, a wide smile stretched across his lips; to know Sebastian cared for him, so much so that he was willingly to forgo two hours of his day just to make sure Blaine was alright gave him a sense of unprecedented euphoria.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, standing as close as he possibly could to Sebastian. “Thank you.”

“You scared me there for a minute,” Sebastian confessed with a shuddery breath, gently stroking up and down his arm.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re here now- and you’re okay-,” Sebastian said, a hand cupping the side of Blaine’s face the way it did under the oak tree. “-that’s all that matters.”

Blaine felt his body melt in the taller man’s touch, the way it did hours ago and he did little to stop himself from burrowing into Sebastian’s palm again, slowly turning his face to brush his lips on Sebastian’s warm skin.

He heard Sebastian’s breath hitch before his face was gently tilted upwards, his eyes meeting Sebastian’s gaze, the taller man’s heartbeat echoing against his body.

Their lips met in the gentlest of kisses, lips gliding languidly, indulgently, both savouring the pinnacle of an inevitable moment; the result of a point in time that had gathered momentum when Sebastian had extended a plush tiger in apology and Blaine had accepted it.

The turbulent trembles in his hands returned, travelling throughout his body; only this time they weren’t caused by a seizure but the alternating soft and hard pressure of his lips against Sebastian’s.

And for the first time since Rising, Blaine truly felt alive.

 

\---

 

The Town Hall pulsed with a pleasant warmth, the result of radiators tucked in strategic corners of the building. Outside, the snow fell in flurries of pristine white, the sunlight bouncing off the blanketed surfaces in an ethereal glow. Sebastian hiked the sleeves of his cashmere sweater up to his elbows as he scribbled some notes in his ledger, going over some of the week’s agenda with the Town Hall’s head of Administrations, Quinn Fabray.

“So the Mayor’s three o’clock on Wednesday should be moved to Friday so we can coordinate the Give Back Scheme update meeting with the council earlier,” Sebastian said, making sure Quinn synchronized her appointment book with his. Being the Mayor’s assistant as well as the one who foresaw all the operations of the PDS Give Back Scheme was quite the demanding job; having someone who mirrored his work ethics and professionalism like Quinn to work with made handling his tasks that much easier.

“What about the luncheon next week in Cleveland?” Quinn asked. “Has Mayor Smythe decided to go? The organizers would like an RSVP by noon tomorrow.”

Sebastian flipped through his ledger, looking for a particular page but before he could answer Quinn, a gust of cold air swirled through the lobby when the heavy oak doors opened briefly. He looked up from the pages in his hands the moment a compact figure stepped in, an orange fabric draped over a shoulder and a paper bag clutched in one hand.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Anderson?” Sebastian greeted playfully, unable to suppress the happiness at seeing Blaine so early in the day.

Blaine giggled, shuffling closer to the reception desk as he fiddled with the folded Give Back Scheme vest on his shoulder. “So formal, Mr. Smythe. And oh so sexy.”

Sebastian swallowed hard at the endearment, heat creeping down his neck when he realized Quinn was still standing next to him.

“I’ll come and look for you about that later,” Quinn offered, a knowing grin curled on her lush lips; she was one of the few people who wasn’t prejudice against PDS sufferers and didn’t regard his relationship with Blaine with distaste. “I need to get some stuff sorted with Accounts.” With a gentle squeeze to his shoulder and a kind smile to Blaine, she stalked off further into the building, the clicking of her heels echoing down the hall.

“What do you have there?” Sebastian asked, his eyes falling on the paper bag in Blaine’s grasp.

“Oh, I was down by the Sterlings fixing their picket fence. Grandma Sterling insisted we stop; not much we can do in the snow, she said. Bless her. I don’t think she knows PDS sufferers don’t feel the cold- or that we don’t eat,” Blaine said with a small laugh, offering the bag to Sebastian. “She made Shepherd’s Pie as a thank you. I didn’t have the heart to turn it away. So it’s your belly’s lucky day.”

Sebastian chuckled, accepting the bag. “It’s a lucky day all around when I get to see you.”

“You see me every day.”

“Then every day is my lucky day,” he cooed, smiling.

Blaine ducked his head shyly, trying hard to hide the wide smile on his face; it was a sight that never ceased to make Sebastian’s heart trot faster, the wide smile on his face mirroring Blaine’s. But as soon as his eyes fell on the boy’s hands, his smile faded; they were trembling.

“Blaine,” Sebastian said in alarm, reaching for the boy’s hands. “Did you have another seizure?”

“Yes,” Blaine admitted quietly, closing his eyes. Sebastian could tell that the seizures had been taking its toll on him. A moment passed before Blaine opened his eyes again, his tender gaze fixed on Sebastian. “But Nick Duval was there when it happened and he said it lasted for only half a minute- so that’s a good thing, I suppose.” Sebastian knew Blaine was trying to make light of the situation, to diffuse his worries.

“We’ve got to go see Cooper. You’ve been having an episode every day this week,” he said, his tone a blend of worry and desperation. Sebastian felt helpless; it was heartbreaking to witness the boy convulse and tremble in pain and not be able to do anything about it. “Maybe he can tweak your Neurotriptyline dosage or try this new cocktail that I read about in a brochure at the hospital; they mix the Neurotriptyline with Tizanidine- it’s a muscle relaxant. Maybe it’s just what you need to stop the seizures.”

“Look at you, all well-versed with PDS medication,” Blaine cooed, pride gleaming in his eyes.

“Well, I’d like to think of myself as a well-versed, hands-on kind of boyfriend,” Sebastian replied, his thumb gently caressing Blaine’s hands. He can feel the tremors slowly subsiding under his touch.

“Boyfriend?” the boy asked, the surprise apparent behind his grin.

Boyfriend; it had been a term Sebastian associated with Blaine every since they started dating in the fall but this was the first time he ever uttered it aloud. He couldn’t help but grin at the sound of it:

“Yeah, boyfriend,” Sebastian quipped, drawing his _boyfriend_ closer, the bag of Shepherd’s Pie squashed between them.

“Boyfriend,” Blaine echoed softly before pushing himself up on tiptoes to reach his lips, pressing them together ardently.

Sebastian deepened the kiss, pulling the boy closer- ever closer, until their bodies melted against one another.

If they weren’t so immersed in their euphoria, Sebastian would have noticed Nathaniel Smythe standing on the hallway balcony above, glaring daggers at the sight of his son entangled with a PDS sufferer, disgust and abhorrence seeping from every pore of his body.

 

\---

 

The pads of Blaine’s fingers pressed against the bumpy surface of the salted pretzel as he fiddled with the contents of the snack basket in front of him, his skin running over the raised flecks of salt, wondering if they spelled out a tale in Braille. A mellow tune wafted from the illuminated jukebox standing by the back wall, mingling its melody with the low hum of the bar. He absentmindedly tapped his foot to the beat as his eyes tracked Sebastian across the room.

Sebastian had whined about craving a decent burger after days and days of eating leftovers from Thanksgiving and had persuaded Blaine to accompany him to The Warbler for dinner. He smiled at the thought of Sebastian and his appetite; the man could eat an entire large pizza by himself and still have room for dessert.

He saw the bartender, a beautiful Latina with shiny black hair pulled back in a high ponytail, lean closer to say something to Sebastian which made the other man throw a glance over his shoulder, looking straight at Blaine. Sebastian had mentioned her once or twice. Years of making The Warbler his stomping ground, Sebastian had developed a friendship with the bartender. Santana was her name, if he wasn’t mistaken. He saw his boyfriend’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter as his face broke in a wide grin. With a wink that made Blaine’s stomach flip ecstatically, Sebastian then returned his attention to his conversation with Santana.

Blaine wondered what the genial bartender had said to Sebastian in their little conversation. Perhaps it was a comment on Blaine’s choice of bowtie? Or perhaps she questioned Sebastian’s choice in boyfriend? The flipping in his stomach died down and he felt a hollowness slowly unfurl in its place.

More often than not, Blaine had wondered how Sebastian managed to see past the pale skin and dead eyes, how the other man didn’t turn and run in the opposite direction like everyone else in town. Despite his best efforts to always look on the bright side of life, there were times his insecurities over being a PDS sufferer would get the better of him.

A not-quite-hushed conversation somewhere from a neighbouring booth pulled his attention away from his musings when Sebastian’s name was mentioned. Shamelessly, Blaine perked his ears and strained to catch the rest of the conversation.

“Did not know Smythe was into rotter-loving?” the voice said with a wicked chuckle.

“Takes all kinds, man,” another voice replied, followed by an equally wicked chuckle.

Since they started dating, Blaine had heard the word _necrophilia_ associated with Sebastian and their relationship enough times to both piss him off and feed his insecurities. There was a part of him that knew what he shared with Sebastian was bona fide, but there was also a part of him that wondered if being partially deceased was what attracted his boyfriend to him in the first place, that maybe their relationship started out as some sort of kink.

The possibility that Sebastian’s attraction was to _what_ he was as opposed to _who_ he was made it hard to breathe.

An unpleasant lump formed in Blaine’s throat at the idea, almost successfully cutting the oxygen supply to his lungs. Blaine was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn’t realize Sebastian had slid into the seat in front of him, a basket of burger and fries in one hand, and a cold bottle of beer in the other. It only took one look at him before the taller man’s brows knitted with worry, the inquiry of “What’s wrong?” tumbling out between the half chewed fries in his mouth.

Despite the insecurities clawing within, Blaine couldn’t help but smile at the fact that Sebastian could read him so well. They had only been dating for a short period yet he dared say Sebastian knew him better than anyone in his life, even better than Cooper, and Sebastian was the first person besides Cooper who made him feel that being a PDS sufferer wasn’t something that defined him, that being partially deceased shouldn’t stand in the way of living.

Blaine bit his lip, a string of guilt curling in his chest. He knew he shouldn’t acknowledge senseless, bigoted comments regarding their relationship, knew deep down what they had was indeed real, but so were his worries. He figured he owed it to Sebastian, to them, to always be honest about everything, be it his hopes, his dreams or his insecurities.

“You and me, us- this is real, right?” Blaine asked, his hands folded nervously on the table, his voice uncertain. Sebastian’s brows furrowed even more, a silent request for him to elaborate. “It’s just that- I want- I need to know that your feelings for me are for _me_ and not- because- of a kink.”

A curious sense of burden lifted from Blaine’s shoulders the moment the words were uttered, something he hadn’t notice was weighing him down; perhaps hearing others affiliating their relationship with necrophilia had bothered him more than he realized.

“Have I given you reason to think it was?” Sebastian asked after a moment, the confusion prominently spelled out in the deep creases of his brows.

As if on cue, the people from the neighbouring booth sniggered. Both Blaine and Sebastian turned towards the sound and found two men- former members of the now defunct HVF judging from the armband proudly encircling their forearm- glancing at them, trying and failing at being incognito.

He knew Sebastian had heard his fair share of atrocious names that followed him around town, cast by the likes of the men whose eyes were brimming with aversion, silently judging Sebastian and Blaine and the relationship that they had built. When Sebastian scoffed in the men’s direction, Blaine knew his boyfriend had already surmised as to what had triggered his vexation.

“Blaine-,” Sebastian breathed, pushing the basket of food and the bottle of beer to the side as he reached for Blaine’s hands, soft green eyes holding his gaze. “- I know people talk and they’re going to keep talking. But that’s only because they don’t know us. They look at us but they don’t _see_ us. More importantly, they don’t see _you_ ,” he cooed, both thumbs drawing lazy circles on Blaine’s skin. “I feel sorry for those who don’t take the time to know you. They don’t know how caring you are, how smart and funny you are, and how adorably stubborn you can be.”

Blaine couldn’t help the little laugh that bubbled out of his chest; he _was_ stubborn.

“Most of all, they don’t know your heart,” Sebastian continued, his eyes now brimming with so much affection that it made Blaine’s chest ache with joy. “You emit warmth and kindness in everything you do. You have the biggest heart and you are proof that a heart doesn’t need to be beating for it to be generous and beautiful- because you, Blaine Anderson, are beautiful- inside and out.”

Blaine was stunned into silence, Sebastian’s words sinking slowly beneath his skin, down to his bones.

Sebastian brought both of Blaine’s hands to his lips, leaving the heat of a kiss seared on the skin as he confessed, “And I love you.”

_And I love you._

The words sank further into his marrow, travelling through his veins straight to his heart, quickening its beating.

His chest vibrated with a familiar pulsing.

And then it hit him.

His heart;

It was beating.

Blaine froze, hypnotized by the steady _thump-thump-thumping_ in his chest. It was a dizzying sensation, one that he hadn’t felt in years.

A moment passed, too engrossed in the rhythm of his heart to realize that Sebastian had been calling his name over and over. Blaine jolted in surprise when Sebastian gave his hands a gentle tug, slowly letting it sink in; his heart was beating.

“What’s wrong, Blaine?” Sebastian repeated with urgency when Blaine failed to answer the first time. “Do you feel alright? Should I call Cooper?”

Giddy giggles tumbled from Blaine’s lips unprompted, the dizzying sensation of his heartbeat accompanied by the thrumming pulse in his veins plunged him into euphoria. “No, Sebastian. It’s- Sebastian, my heart-”

Forming words suddenly seemed like a taxing effort. When his lips and tongue failed him, Blaine slid out of the booth and rounded the short distance to Sebastian. Wordlessly, he reached for his boyfriend’s hand and placed it over his now beating heart. He could feel the thumping bounce off of Sebastian’s palm as he regarded the taller man carefully.

Sebastian’s brows crinkled in bewilderment, his eyes searching Blaine’s for an explanation. Steadily, it began to dawn on Sebastian, his expression morphing from surprise to elation with every strong, pulsating beat under his hand. “It’s beating,” he breathed.

All Blaine could do was nod vigorously, the action causing the happy tears that had welled up in his eyes to roll down his cheeks.

A soft, loving “Blaine” escaped Sebastian’s lips before he latched them onto Blaine’s, kissing him fervently, the beating of both their hearts keeping time with the glide of their lips.

Blaine let himself souse in the warmth of Sebastian’s body pressed against his, the pressure of their lips on each other, the electricity pulsing through his entire being. This was it, he thought to himself in between the heartbeats;

This was what it felt like to truly be happy.

This was what it felt like to _really_ be alive.

Blaine smiled into the kiss, basking in the glorious moment as the world around them fell away; it was just him, just Sebastian-

Until-

A heavy hand clasped down on Blaine’s shoulder and wrenched him backwards. He whirled around by the sheer force of the tug, disoriented by the sudden loss of Sebastian’s lips against his. It took a moment before Blaine managed to regain his bearing. It was then that he realized he was standing face to face with Nathaniel Smythe.

“Get your rotting hands off of my son,” snarled the elder Smythe.

“Dad-”

Before Sebastian could say anymore, Nathaniel Smythe raised a hand to silence his son. It was astonishing that the man before him looked haggard, his breath sour and heavy with drink yet he still held himself with such poise and authority that Blaine couldn’t help but be slightly awed.

“Why you?” Nathaniel asked softly, as if posing the question to no one in particular, his eyes glazed with a haze of a night’s worth of drinking but the anguish shone through it. “Why did you get to Rise and not my Emilie?”

Emilie Smythe.

Sebastian’s mother.

In that moment, Blaine understood part of the elder Smythe’s abhorrence towards PDS sufferers; he envied the Risen. He envied those who got their second chance at life, albeit being partially deceased, because none of them were his beloved wife.

Stories of Emilie Smythe that Sebastian had told depicted the woman to be beautiful, kindhearted and had a wonderful sense of humour. Blaine imagined she was sorely missed- by no one more than the man who vowed to spend the rest of his life with her, the man currently shaking with despair before him.

“Mayor Smythe, I-” Blaine stammered, unsure of what to say.

“No-” Nathaniel blurted, more to himself than to Blaine or Sebastian as anger replaced the anguish in his eyes. “It wouldn’t be her! It wouldn’t be her. She would be just a shell- nothing more than a shell.”

Blaine cringed at the sentiment; not long ago, Sebastian believed all PDS sufferers were but an echo of their former selves, a shell. It had hurt to hear it from Sebastian then and it hurt now hearing it reiterated by his father.

“So are you,” the elder Smythe bellowed, his gaze boring right through Blaine. “You are an abomination, a plague set upon this world- to maim, to corrupt.” Nathaniel Smythe was seething, his growing repugnance reverberating from his body. “But I will protect my son from being corrupted by a rotter- if it’s the last thing I do.”

For a man in a state of drunken stupor, Nathaniel Smythe moved lithely that all Blaine saw was a blur of a hand moving across their table, swiftly grabbing the lone beer bottle that Sebastian had been nursing earlier. He didn’t even realize the glass had been broken until he heard the shattered shards clattering to the floor. He didn’t even realize that the jagged edge of the broken bottle had pierced through his skin, his flesh, his muscles until a mind-numbing pain spread through his entire body, the warmth trickling down his stomach making his head spin.

An eerie silence draped over the bar; there were no other sound save for the steady rhythm of Blaine’s heart. But it was faint now- no longer the strong, unfaltering _thump-thump-thumping_ it had been mere minutes ago.

Time seemed to slow down.

Blaine turned, adamantly searching for the kindest green eyes that he had come to love. Once he found them, he sighed in relief, ignoring the searing pain slowly engulfing his senses as best as he could, a stream of _You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine_ resounding in his head.

“Sebastian,” he breathed.

And then his world went dark.

.

Everything happened so fast.

Sebastian stood paralyzed as he watched his father plunge the broken bottle in Blaine’s chest.

There was a ringing in his ear, vaguely aware that two men from the bar were pulling Nathaniel Smythe away.

Blaine turned to face him, his expression pained but calm; there was so much blood.

And when Blaine collapsed into his arms, Sebastian could have sworn his heart stopped beating.

.

A steady beeping flooded his ears, his body swaying slightly with the movement of the- car? Van? Blaine wasn’t sure.

Something was clutching his hand. His finger twitched against the hold, skin grazing the familiar warmth:

Sebastian; Blaine would recognize his touch anywhere.

Snippets of events at The Warbler flashed behind his eyelids; the flusters in his chest when Sebastian said “ _I love you_ ”, the elation of discovering his re-beating heart, the anguish of Nathaniel Smythe, the bottle-

The bottle.

A fresh, excruciating pain ripped through his body, originating from his chest. He tried to move but none of his muscles or limbs seemed to cooperate. Even when Blaine tried to pry his eyes open, they remained stubbornly shut.

A panic rose within; he was going to die- again.

Blaine’s first death had been sudden; one moment he was on the soccer field, the next moment there was nothing but the cold and the darkness.

This time, Blaine was aware that he was slipping away. And he was terrified.

He wasn’t quite afraid of dying, of the Big Sleep. After all, he had done it before. _Nothing is certain in life but death and taxes_ , wasn’t that the old sardonic proverb? Everybody dies.

What he was afraid of was leaving Cooper, leaving Sebastian.

He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his brother- not again, not like this. Cooper deserved better.

And Sebastian, Blaine didn’t have the chance to requite his “I love you”. He couldn’t leave without the other man knowing how much he meant to him, how much he loved him.

If Blaine was fated to die tonight, he needed Sebastian to know:

_You are the best part of this second life I’ve been given.  
I love you with all my heart._

He tried to string together the words, to let them roll over his tongue and travel straight to Sebastian.

But his voice laid silent in his chest.

And Blaine felt himself falling.

There was nothing but the cold and the dark.

.

All the medical jargon being thrown back and forth between the paramedics and the hospital’s awaiting Trauma Unit staff made Sebastian lightheaded the moment they lowered Blaine out of the ambulance. Everything around him seemed like it was spinning but he focused on running alongside the gurney, his hand still clutching Blaine’s, keeping his thoughts anchored to the touch of their hands.

“What do we have?” He heard Cooper ask somewhere ahead of the paramedics. Sebastian was sure the elder Anderson sibling hadn’t realized it was Blaine who was being wheeled into the Emergency Room; his tone was much too calm.

“19 year old male, single stab wound to the midsternal line, just below the sternum.”

Cooper’s calm demeanour vaporised the moment he saw Sebastian, his eyes quickly falling to the younger Anderson bleeding profusely on the gurney. “Oh my God! Blaine!” he yelped. “He’s bleeding! How is he bleeding?”

Cooper then moved two of his fingers and placed them on Blaine’s neck, over his carotid artery. “A pulse?” the elder Anderson whispered in astonishment.

Despite his surprise, Sebastian watched Cooper move with precision and skill, intently listening to the stats of Blaine’s blood pressure and weak pulse as he shone a pen light in his brother’s eyes.

“His pupils are reactive to light. And his irises changed,” Cooper breathed in disbelief. Sebastian caught a brief shade of golden honey before Cooper let Blaine’s eyelids close again; they were beautiful.

Blaine, his beautiful Blaine.

“We need to stabilize him now, get this bleeding under control,” Cooper barked as they reached one of the procedure rooms. Amidst the orders for the nurse to start an IV line and requests on updates of Blaine’s vitals, no one seemed to notice that Sebastian was still in the room, his hand never leaving Blaine’s, until Cooper bumped into him.

“Sebastian, get out.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Get out!”

“No!”

Where Sebastian expected anger to glint in Cooper’s eyes, he was only met with understanding, with patience as Cooper’s hands fall on his shoulders, gently squeezing them reassuringly.

“Sebastian, I know you’re worried and I know you’re scared. I am, too,” Cooper said softly. “But I need you to let me do my job. I need you to let me save my brother.”

The moments that followed were a blur. Sebastian doesn’t remember when he was escorted out of the procedure room, the glass sliding doors closing- separating him from the love of his life. He doesn’t remember buying the now stale cup of coffee he was cradling in his trembling hands.

Sebastian wasn’t aware when his thoughts drifted to his father but there was a boiling anger under his skin now. He always knew that the elder Smythe never really got over his mother’s passing, but never once did he think his father would be so shrouded in bitterness, in the inability to let go that it twisted into a hatred that was misdirected at PDS sufferers. That hatred might just cost Sebastian the person he loved the most.

The anger throbbing in Sebastian’s veins was dulled only by the incessant thrumming of fear- fear of losing Blaine.

Memories of their first meeting under the oak tree replayed in his mind’s eye, followed by their first kiss in this very hospital, every other kiss after that, all the heartfelt conversations of losing loved ones (they often talked of how Sebastian losing his mother at a young age and Blaine losing both his parents shaped the people they became), all the quiet dreams now allowed space to be said aloud, and all the moments in between.

Sebastian found it hard to breathe; he couldn’t bear to lose Blaine- not now, not like this.

Suddenly, the sliding door of the procedure room cracked open, sharpening the blurriness of Sebastian’s foggy thoughts. A nurse slipped out in a sprint, the urgency of her footsteps deafening. In her haste, the sliding door was left ajar, a sound so haunting wafting through the sliver of opening that turned his blood into ice, halting the breath in his chest:

The shrill monotonous breedle of a flatline.

 

\---

 

The warmth of the January sun shone down on the path, melting the light coat of snow from the night before. Sebastian’s footsteps sloshed quietly as he treaded between the headstones lining his way. He lifted his face towards the sun, closing his eyes to bask in the new day.

 _One day at a time_ , he reminded himself.

Sebastian’s gaze fell on the angel statue looking down on one of the graves; that was his landmark. Passed the statue, three rows down to the left would be his destination. The thin tissue wrapping rustled as he hugged the bouquet of sunflowers cradled in his arms a little tighter.

Sunflowers; what a perfect flower for a person who was the personification of sunshine, he mused inwardly, a smile creeping on his lips.

Growing up, Sebastian’s life was filled with sunshine and laughter and love, but the fateful day that took his mother away was the beginning of years and years of darkened skies.

His father never truly learned to live without the love of his life, often wallowing in his grief, never acknowledging the ten year old boy who was in similar pain. They _both_ lost their sunshine, after all.

The dark clouds kept gathering when The Rising occurred; the fear, the panic, the havoc- everything kept accumulating like a giant storm that tore through their lives and seemed to block out the sun permanently. For four years, he fought the hunger and the rabid PDS sufferers that made it past the town’s barricade alongside his father, holding on to the sunshine that was the memory of his mother like a guiding beacon that led to his survival.

Little did he know that his mother’s memory was a beacon for his father, too, but not in a way he could have imagined.

For four years, Nathaniel Smythe would plant himself by the front door, looking out the makeshift wicket. Sebastian had thought his father was keeping vigil, standing guard over their home, their lives, but in truth, he was waiting. Waiting and hoping against hope that the love of his life would Rise along with the others, to be reanimated and they would be reunited; an insight Sebastian learned that night at The Warbler with Blaine.

The love of his life.

Sebastian’s second chance at sunshine.

Hearing Blaine speak with a fiery passion at the first PDS Giveback Scheme meeting all those months ago was the first sliver of sunlight to pierce the dark clouds of his life in a long time. More rays of light broke through the dark the more time he spent with Blaine and every day that he fell more and more in love with the boy, the brighter his skies and his life became.

However, some darkness returned that night at The Warbler and even more so after his father pleaded guilty to the charges pressed against him by Cooper Anderson. The elder Smythe was now serving his five year sentence.

A stinging sense of loneliness enveloped him, a doleful shiver rippled under his skin; his mother was gone, and to a certain extent, so was his father.

Sebastian let his feet lead him, his body working on muscle memory now towards the marble tombstone. When he finally reached the grave, a fresh pain opened in his chest, stuttering his breath and weighting his heart as clouds of dark thoughts rolled through his mind; _I am alone_.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped lovingly around his waist; a warm ray of light cutting through the darkness that threatened to engulf him once more, a promise of _You’re never alone, I’m here_.

“Hi,” greeted a voice, a summer-like cadence against the winter air.

Sebastian turned away from the tombstone where his sights were met with a compact figure clad in a radiant, maroon sweater over a white shirt, a floral bowtie peeping out at the collar.

Blaine Anderson; sunshine personified.

Blaine looked radiant with the curls of his raven black hair fluttering lightly in the cool breeze, his honey-gold eyes warm like the sun and his lips and cheeks tinted pink from the January air.

Beautiful Blaine Anderson; _alive again_.

“Sorry I’m late,” Blaine cooed, snuggling into Sebastian’s side, tucked under his arm.

“I’m glad you’re here now,” Sebastian replied.

The words uttered were layered with a multitude of emotions, of gratitude.

Sebastian was grateful for the chance of meeting Blaine under the oak tree that late morning in early autumn. In hindsight the PDS Giveback Scheme was a vile concept but the greatest outcome of it was his relationship with Blaine.

He was grateful that Cooper, with all his medical skills, had managed to revive Blaine after the beautiful boy’s heart stopped beating because the moment Blaine had flatlined, Sebastian could feel himself withering away, too.

And he was grateful for this second chance at life with Blaine; a second lease on life- together.

“Goodbyes are never easy,” Blaine said.

Slowly, Sebastian uncurled himself from Blaine and bent down to place the bouquet of sunflowers by the headstone, his fingers running lovingly over the embossed _Emilie Smythe_. _Wife. Mother. Sunshine._

“Neither are new beginnings,” he said, resuming his place by Blaine’s side. “One day at a time,” Sebastian repeated the reminder, out loud this time.

With Nathaniel Smythe incarcerated, Carole Hudson had been sworn in as the new Mayor of Westerville; her first order of business was to decommission the PDS Giveback Scheme. She had offered Sebastian his former position as the Mayor’s Personal Assistant, but he politely declined, knowing he no longer belonged in this town. He belonged by Blaine’s side and wherever Blaine was, that was home.

After being one of the few PDS sufferers who were known to make a complete and successful transition to _alive again_ , Blaine was invited to help with studies and research at the Cleveland Treatment and Rehabilitation Center, along with Cooper, who had extensive, firsthand medical knowledge of Blaine’s condition.

They were leaving Westerville- a fresh start, together- always together.

Sebastian had said his goodbyes to his father earlier; he was still furious for what the elder Smythe had done to Blaine, probably will be for a very long time, but the man was still his father. Leaving without a goodbye wouldn’t be right, and it only felt right to bid his mother farewell, too- as difficult as it may seem.

_Goodbyes are never easy._

_One day at a time._

“Goodbye, mom,” Sebastian whispered, a kiss tucked in the wind between the words.

With a tug to his lover’s hand, Sebastian and Blaine turned to tread down the path together, his soles an airy spring with every step he took towards a new life with Blaine, together- always together- the sunshine lighting their way brightly, all the way ahead of them, warming their skins, their hearts.

 

\---END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> Comments welcomed.


End file.
